Page 18 of Love Takes A Tumble
As he turned to leave, part of him—the part that had spent a lifetime rushing back into burning buildings when everyone else was running out—wanted desperately to turn around, to push past her defenses, to prove he wasn't giving up so easily.
But for once in his life, Harrison Tate didn't charge back in. He walked away, each step down the corridor feeling like surrender.
By morning, he'd be gone. She was right about that much, at least.
He just wished she'd been wrong about everything else.
Chapter Nine
The garden outside the Magnolia Suite's window offered little comfort as Audrey stared through the glass. She'd barely slept, the echoes of yesterday's confrontation with Harrison haunting the night hours. His words had burrowed deep, finding the truth she'd been avoiding.
This is about me finding the first person in years who made me want to stay.
She pressed her forehead against the cool window pane. The morning light revealed an empty parking space where Harrison's truck had been. He'd gone, like he said he would. Like she'd told him to.
Her teacup sat untouched on the side table, the herbal blend gone cold hours ago. She'd attempted to eat the toast Elise had kindly brought up, but each bite had tasted like cardboard. How could something as simple as breakfast suddenly feel so impossible?
Her ankle barely hurt anymore, the sprain almost completely healed. Soon she wouldn't even have that reminder of how they'd met. Harrison carrying her across the beach. His unexpected kindness. The beginning of something she'd been too afraid to name.
Her laptop sat open on the desk, the cursor blinking on the same paragraph she'd been staring at for hours. Her lighthouse keeper stood at his station, vigilant but alone, his isolation both shield and prison. The metaphor wasn't lost on her.
She'd come to Palmar Island to write, to find herself after decades of caregiving. Three months of solitude and creativity. That had been the plan. Not meeting someone who made her question everything she thought she knew about herself. Not feeling this hollow ache at the thought of never seeing him again.
"Ridiculous," she muttered, pushing away from the window and limping to the desk. "You've known him for what—two weeks? Less? This isn't some romance novel."
Yet the pain in her chest felt undeniably real. As real as the words Harrison had flung at her yesterday:You're so afraid of stepping into your new life that you'd rather sabotage anything good before it has a chance to become something you might lose.
A soft knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts.
"Not hungry," she called, assuming it was Elise with a second attempt at breakfast.
"Then it's a good thing I didn't bring food," Miss Doris's voice replied.
Audrey sighed, crossing to open the door. The older woman stood in the hallway, arms crossed, silver eyebrows raised in an expression that brooked no argument.
"May I come in?" she asked, already stepping inside. "My, it's stuffy in here. When was the last time you opened a window?" She moved to the window and unlatched it, letting in a fresh breeze that carried the scent of jasmine and sea salt.
"I'm not in the mood for company," Audrey said, returning to her desk chair.
"I'm not company. I'm an intervention." Miss Doris settled onto the armchair by the window, smoothing her floral skirt withpracticed hands. "He left, you know. Checked out at dawn. Jacob said he barely said goodbye, just handed over his key and drove away with the sunrise."
"I know." Audrey's fingers found a loose thread on her sleeve, worrying it. "It's better this way."
"Is it?" Miss Doris's tone was gentle but probing. "You've been glowing since you met that man. Now you look like someone dimmed all the lights."
"It was a brief connection. Nothing more." The words sounded hollow even to her own ears.
"My dear girl." Miss Doris leaned forward, her pale blue eyes surprisingly fierce. "That man didn't help you because of some hero complex or duty. He helped you because from the moment he carried you off that beach, he was falling in love with you."
The words hit Audrey like a physical blow. "He couldn't have been. We barely know each other."
"Sometimes knowing comes quicker than we expect. Sometimes it takes one look, one conversation, one moment when everything suddenly makes sense." Miss Doris's voice softened. "And sometimes it takes a lifetime of looking before we recognize what's right in front of us."
"Even if that were true," Audrey began, her throat tightening, "he was leaving anyway. That's what he does."
"Was he? Or was he waiting for a reason to stay?" Miss Doris stood, moving to Audrey's desk where the manuscript pages lay scattered. "You know, I read once that we write what we need to learn. That stories are how we work through the truths we're not quite ready to face."
Audrey's gaze fell to her novel, to the lighthouse keeper searching the horizon for ships that might never come. Guiding others to safety while remaining apart. Just as she'd accused Harrison of doing. As she'd been doing herself.
